TwentySeven
by Ayve
Summary: When Ron doesn't know how to help his friend, he does the only thing he can do: he loves him.Updated at random. Sorry, folks, but I need to finish school first.
1. TwentySeven

_(Remember, these boys are not mine. I love them dearly, but I had no part in their creation whatsoever. I'm just a person who takes them and makes JK Rowling claw her hair out and say, "Darn you, that's not what my characters are supposed to be doing, you bad slash writer, you!")_

* * *

Ron didn't know what to do. 

It had been nearly a month since that disastrous event at the Ministry of Magic. Twenty-seven days since he had hopped on a thestral and flown for who knows how far without ever seeing his mount. Nearly 648 hours since they had entered and reentered all those rooms. It had been almost 38,880 minutes since Sirius had died.

Yet Ron still didn't know what to do.

He kept quiet at first. Harry wasn't ready to talk, or so Hermione said. They needed to give him _space_; they needed to give him _time_; he was under lots of _emotional stress, Ron, and I'd expect you to know that._

So Ron kept quiet when Harry came to visit that summer. It wasn't like he had to work at it; Harry mostly kept quiet, too. Sure, there were times when they flew over the lake with the summer sun hot on their backs and the wind in their faces that felt almost like normal. Harry would laugh and look back at Ron as his Firebolt outstripped Ron's Cleansweep. Ron would marvel at the simple joy Harry found in flying, the joy Harry found in doing nothing but soaring around and around in wide, looping arcs, and he would think everything would be okay again.

But the nights were different.

On Harry's third night at The Burrow, Ron realized he wouldn't be sleeping straight through the night anymore. Gone were the days of happy snores and dreams of chocolate éclairs. His own nightmares woke him first, but then he could never fall back asleep. Harry was always tossing and turning on the camp bed, and Ron would hear him mumbling in his sleep.

Ron didn't know what to do the first time it happened, so he tried letting Harry get through the dream. He sat in the blue moonlight and watched as Harry twitched under his blankets. Drops of sweat dripped slowly down his face, and his mouth kept forming a word over and over: _Sirius, Sirius, Sirius, _Ron realized.

The next night, Ron still didn't know what to do, so he tried waking Harry. Instead of helping, it seemed to make the dream worse; Harry began to shudder violently under his blankets. He didn't stop for an hour. As the days passed, Ron learned that Harry would shake for one hour and seventeen minutes if touched. Ron stopped touching Harry.

So when Ron counted to fifty-two minutes and twenty-nine seconds on the twenty-seventh night since— Well, Ron couldn't take it anymore. He was sick of not knowing what to do. He was tired of watching Harry relive his nightmare every night. He just couldn't take it anymore.

Ron lightly leapt over the clutter on his floor and stood next to Harry's bed. He wondered briefly if Harry would object, but he shoved the thought aside and bent over. He carefully disentangled Harry from the twisted, sweat-soaked blankets and picked him up. Harry was alarmingly light and far too easy to carry back to the bright orange bed.

Slowly, gently, Ron eased Harry onto the sheets. He hesitated and then climbed in next to him. He awkwardly wrapped his arms around his friend and pulled him close. He froze as Harry stirred. His heart began to pound when Harry's eyes cracked opened. How could he explain this? But Harry didn't seem to need an explanation. He simply closed his eyes and buried his face in Ron's neck. A soft, contented sigh drifted upwards as Harry fell back asleep.

Ron hugged Harry tighter and began to fall asleep himself. He realized as his eyes slowly flickered shut that maybe he did know what to do after all.

A cool breeze drifted in through the window, an owl hooted in the distance, and the boys slept.


	2. Picnic

"Ron. Ron. Are you awake?"

Ron shifted slightly. _Go away_, he thought fuzzily. _I'm sleeping with Harry. Hee. Sleeping with Harry._ He snuggled against Harry's warm, furry body.

"Come on, Ron. Hermione can't find Crookshanks and we need you to help us look."

_Wait… furry? _Ron opened his eyes and found himself face-to-squashed-face with Crookshanks. "ARRRRRG!"

The door burst open, and Ginny rushed into the room. "Oh, good, you've found Crookshanks! Hermione'll be so happy!" She squealed, picked up the cat, and left the room just as fast as she'd come in.

Ron groaned and rubbed his eyes. What time was it? Why was everyone up so early?

A loud roar of "RONALD WEASLEY!" answered his question. Today was supposed to be the family picnic. Ron looked around and spied his watch resting on the edge of a table. 12:15. Hm. "Oh!" Ron yelped. He was running late. Very late. As in four hours and fifteen minutes late.

"Coming, Mum!" he yelled down the stairs as he leapt from his bed. "I'll be right there, I'm just, er, tidying my room!" He shuffled some papers and dropped a few books to prove his point before slamming his door shut. Praising whatever god inspired Ginny to hang up his clean clothes yesterday, Ron threw on a shirt and clean trousers as fast as he could. He was halfway through grabbing his swim trunks when the night's events caught up to him. _Oh_, he thought rather dimly. _I guess Harry's already downstairs._

His heart sank. Ron absentmindedly fiddled with the swim trunks as he mulled over the matter. Okay, so Harry had woken up and gone to get ready. Okay, so he hadn't woken up overjoyed at being in bed with Ron and then woken Ron by giving him— But this wasn't bad. No, this was a good thing. Harry needed to be taken care of right now. He didn't need any more stress. Right. It was better if Ron just didn't mention it at all. That wouldn't be hard. Of course not.

"RONALD WEASLEY, IF YOU DON'T GET YOUR BEHIND DOWN IN HERE THIS INSTANT, I SWEAR I'LL SNAP YOUR WAND IN HALF!"

"I'm _coming_!" Ron shouted back. "Keep your hair on," he added, but not even Pidwidgeon heard it. He sighed, grabbed his bag, and left the room.

* * *

The day was hot. Of that Ron was certain. It was swelteringly, blisteringly, unbearably hot. Still, Mrs. Weasley insisted that they walk to the pond in case any Muggles happened to catch a glimpse of brooms soaring through the air. 

"But Mum, that's rubbish!" Fred had exclaimed.

"He's right," George had agreed. "We're not walking all that way when we can Apparate flawlessly."

"Well, there was that time in The Leaky Cauldron…" Hermione had begun to say.

Fred had flapped his hand impatiently at her and said, "Oh, bother with all the details. We're going." Then he and George had Disapparated with a loud_ pop_!

And so Ron found himself waiting for Mr. Weasley to escort Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and himself to the pond.

"You'll be alright dears, won't you?" Mrs. Weasley asked anxiously as she gathered the baskets. "You won't get lost, will you?"

"Oh, Molly, you fret too much!" Mr. Weasley gasped as he struggled to inflate his ducky inner-tube manually. Harry had described the Muggle way of inflating things at breakfast two days ago, and ever since then, Mr. Weasley had decided to practice on pool toys. Of course, he had a little trouble in the beginning when he misunderstood what Harry meant by "blow up", but by the fourteenth duck he had finally figured it out.

"Alright, dears. We'll see you at the pond, then. Don't come too late; Fred and George will eat all the food if you do."

"Us, too," chimed in Bill and Charlie. The grinned wickedly and Disapparated. Mrs. Weasley rolled her eyes and followed her sons.

"Well," Hermione said. Her voice echoed a bit. The house was empty for the first time in weeks. Even Crookshanks was quiet for once. Harry, too, stood silently by the stairs. Ron tried to keep his eyes off of his friend. After all, Harry must think he was some kind of freak—if he remembered the night, that is. Maybe he had forgotten. Still, from the way Harry was avoiding him, Ron had a sneaking suspicion that he remembered the night perfectly.

"Shall we go then?" Harry asked Mr. Weasley. He slung his towel over his shoulder and turned his back to Ron.

Mr. Weasley nodded to the door as he spluttered and gasped for breath. "Yes, let's… mother… waiting for… go," he finished weakly.

The group walked out of the house and into the scorching heat. Ron screwed up his eyes as he adjusted to the blinding light. Harry picked up his pace until he was a good distance ahead of the gang. Hermione cast a worried look at Ron and hurried after Harry. Mr. Weasley strolled far behind them, so Ron was left walking next to Ginny.

They walked in silence for a while. Ginny's copper hair seemed to glow under the sun, and her skin was already tanned and freckled. Ron had to admit it: she was growing into a beautiful young woman. _She's the kind of girl who'll break a boy's heart, _he thought to himself._ Probably Harry's heart, _he reminded himself sadly,_ because Harry's not gay._

"Ron?" Ginny said suddenly. "Look, I know this seems rather rude and awkward, but it's the only time I've had alone with you and I can't guarantee I'll get any other time with you, and since Dad's back there with his duck, I just thought… well…"

Ron stared at his sister. "Gin? What is it?" _Please don't tell me that you like Harry_, he thought desperately; _please, please, anything but that._

"Well, I… Ron, are you gay?"

Ron stopped dead in his tracks. "Am I… what? I… Gin! I… I don't…" He paused and took a shaky breath. "Does Mum know?" he whispered.

Ginny laughed. "God, Ron, it's about time you told me!" She pulled Ron into a fierce hug. Ron laughed, too; it felt good to finally tell somebody.

"So how'd you know?" he asked. "What gave it away? I know; it was my uncanny knack for fashion!" He held his head up high and strutted next to his sister.

Ginny snorted as she glanced at her brother's wrinkled shirt and rumpled hair. "Please! Honestly, Ron, your clothes are even worse than Snape's! I only figured it out because of Harry."

"Harry?" Ron's palms began to sweat. "What's he got to do with it?"

"Well, Ron, it's obvious. I've seen how much you've watched him this summer. You care for him more than anyone else—except maybe Mum," she added with a grin. "I know you do your best to hide it, but it's not working. Hermione knows something is up. Actually, she's the one who made me think you were gay to begin with. She— " Ginny stopped, checked to make sure that Mr. Weasley was far behind, and continued. "Well, she told me she found _A History of the Gay Wizarding Community_ in your closet last week, and the checkout date was April 5th, so it had to have been either you or the twins playing a joke, so… But you know how she is. She knows everything, Hermione. So you might as well tell her, Ron, because otherwise she'll drag it out of me."

Ron shook his head and whistled. "God, it took me sixteen years to figure out I'm gay, and Hermione gets it in a week?" He sighed and grinned. "I'll tell her tonight, Gin. Thanks." He pulled her into a bear hug and ruffled her hair.

"Oi! Watch the hair!" she yelped.

Ron laughed and ducked her swat. "Catch me if you can!" he shouted. Wind in his hair, Ron raced down the path with his heart much lighter than it had been before.


	3. At the Pond

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Darn it.

* * *

It was nearly noon when they finally arrived at the pond. The rest of the Weasleys were resting in the shade. Ron glared enviously at Fred as he sipped at a cold glass of lemonade. 

"Why, what's the matter, brother?" George asked as he poured himself a drink. "You look a bit thirsty. Mmm, pity." He raised the glass to his lips.

Before George knew what was happening, Ron had reached over and snatched the glass from his hand. He greedily gulped the sweet liquid until nothing was left in the glass. "Ahh," he sighed, and then he squeaked as the ground suddenly rushed to meet him. Fred and George roared with laughter as he realised what had happened.

"Lizard Lemonade, little bro," Fred crowed. "The latest addition to our all-new summer prank kit."

"You really should learn, Ron," George added as he watched his brother scurry up a tree to escape Crookshanks' pointed claws.

"Fred, George, I _told_ you if you tried out that vile invention on one more person, so help me, I'd—"

George sighed and stretched. "Fine, fine." He carelessly flicked his wand at Ron. "But just so you know, Mum, it's our vile inventions that could help pay for Ron and Ginny's books this year."

Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips but didn't say anything. In fact, ever since she had awakened to find the latest _Witch Weekly_ robes hanging in her closet, she hadn't said much at all about the twins' new business.

Ron suddenly realised that he was much heavier than he had been seconds before. And that was funny—he seemed to be upside-down. Ron understood a second too late. With a strangled yell, he plopped down from the tree branch on which he had been hanging. He stood and dusted himself off. "You bloody… You…" gasped Ron. He charged George and tackled him to the ground.

"Oh, honestly, you two," Hermione chided as she watched the pair roll around on the ground. "Stop being so childish. Quit your squabbling and let's go swimming."

The two boys stopped fighting immediately and jumped to their feet. "Last one in is a rotten potions master!" cried George as he shed his clothes. He and Fred splashed into the water and dove beneath the surface. Hermione and Ginny removed their shirts a bit more demurely, but their 'casual stroll' was really more of a hurried dash.

"Look out below!" a voice yelled from above. Ron looked up and felt his heart flutter. Harry was poised on the edge of a branch with his arms outstretched. His golden-tan chest glistened with beads of sweat. Suddenly, with a smooth and silky grace, Harry leapt off the branch and dove perfectly into the water.

"Nice one, Harry!" Ginny applauded as Harry reemerged. "Where'd you learn to do that?"

Harry grinned and pointed at the twins. "Four weeks to learn, but it was worth it," he admitted.

Fred slapped Harry on the back. "Good job, mate. Couldn't be prouder." He looked back at the shore and then laughed. "Oi! Ron! You like being a rotten potions master, yeah?"

Ron realised he was still standing on the shore. He held his shirt tightly in his hands. He could feel something that… well… He fumbled with his shirt and held it in front of his waist. "Er, I… I'm… still tired, er, thirsty, er… I'm not in the mood now," he finished lamely. He turned and walked briskly to the table. He grabbed a pitcher of water and hurried into the woods.

"Suit yourself," he heard Harry say as he left the lake behind. Was it just his imagination, or did Harry sound slightly disappointed? Well, no matter, Ron had other—er, more _pressing_ issues to deal with now.

* * *

Seven minutes, fifty-nine seconds, and ten scratches later, Ron found himself in the middle of the woods. He was tempted to stop and just take care of his problem then and there, but he really didn't want to take a chance of anyone finding him when he was, well… 

Ron always felt guilty when he wanked. Or rather, he felt guilty when he wanked and thought of Harry. He couldn't help it, though. After seeing that sweat drip down Harry's chest—down his tan, muscular chest—and soak into the waistband of his swim trunks, well…

It hadn't always been this way, though. There was a time when seeing Harry with his clothes off hadn't done this to him. Granted, Ron had been eleven at the time, and neither of them had really had much to show, but still, that had to count, right? Ron shook his head and pushed his way further through the bushes. Yeah, sure it counted, just like he didn't like Hermione anymore.

That was another troubling thing. Ron had finally come to terms with his sexuality, but that little thing with Hermione just wouldn't go away. He had hoped _A History of the Gay Wizarding Community_ would help him figure it out, but it had only confused him more. "Some wizards prefer both men and women," it read. "However, this author in particular thinks women parts are icky and should be avoided at all costs. Besides, it's impossible to love more than one person."

Well, Ron was used to the impossible happening with his two best friends. He smiled. He could just imagine what Hermione would say if she read that part.

"What?" she would exclaim. "How can he say that? Has he done all his research? Ron, this really isn't a reliable book. How many did you take out of the library? Only one? Really, Ron, you should know better by now. Haven't I taught you anything? _Always quadruple-check your sources!_ Oh, here, give it to me; boys don't know how to do anything right." Then she would take the book from Ron and race to the library, her hips swiveling and her chest bou—

"Oh, bloody hell," Ron said into the empty forest. He stopped walking and dropped his trousers. He couldn't take it anymore; he felt like he would explode. He took one last look around and began to satisfy his urge.

It was the best he had had in a while; all that tension had really built up. As he came, he struggled to suppress a yell. It was too hard; he had to do something. Ron gritted his teeth and let out a muffled, "H-h-h-h-!"

It was as he moaned that he missed the sound of twigs breaking.


	4. Diving

Disclaimer: Trust me, if I were JK, the Pope would have sent an assassin already. (And yes, the time maker, Ron is "gay 2 me." :D)

* * *

Ron walked back to the pond with what he hoped was a cool, easy pace. He didn't want anyone to notice anything suspicious about his absence. Fortunately, Mrs. Weasley had started serving the food, and everyone was more interested in the sandwiches and lemonade.

"Ronald, dear, hurry and grab a plate," Mrs. Weasley said distractedly as she tried to stop the oversized watermelon from rolling off the table. Ron braced himself, but no one else said anything. He grabbed a plate and quickly piled it with food.

"Ron!" Harry waved from his spot under the willow tree. "Come sit with me and Hermione. We saved you a space."

Ron felt his face burn. If they only knew what he had been doing moments before… Well, no matter now. He carried his plate over to his two friends and sat down between them. His heart raced when he bumped knees with Harry, and he breathlessly murmured, "Sorry."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione began talking at her rat-a-tat pace before he could start. "Ron, where were you? You missed all the fun of diving. Fred and George are really good, I mean they're almost as good as the Olympic team—Oh! You don't know the Olympics, do you? Here, let me explain. See, there are these teams from countries all around the world, and the best athletes compete in all these different events—"

Ron nodded and let his mind and eyes wander. What had Harry been about to say? He noticed the other boy picked a bit sullenly at his food, but he didn't eat a bite.

"Harry," Ron said suddenly, "mate, you've got to eat something."

Perhaps this wasn't the best thing to say, Ron realized later. Harry immediately bristled. "Why?" he demanded. "I'm getting bloody tired of being told what to do, Ron. I mean, all summer I've had people telling me to do this, do that, stay safe, be careful…"

Hermione (_bless her soul_, Ron thought fondly) stepped in and saved the day. "I'm sure he's only worried what Mrs. Weasley will say if you don't eat her cooking. She worked for days to prepare this feast, and if you don't eat it, her feelings will be hurt."

Ron nodded in agreement. "You know how Mum gets. She still gets insulted if I don't eat at least three helpings of dessert."

Harry seemed satisfied with this explanation. He shrugged half-heartedly and speared a piece of ham on his fork. Ron pretended not to notice, but Harry ate much more after that.

* * *

Later, as the sun began to set and the stars began to shine, Ron felt a nagging feeling in his stomach. Ginny wasn't helping; she kept 'accidentally' bumping into him and whispering "Tell her!" in his ear as she helped him up. Finally, when the moon began to swim on the pond's surface, Ron decided it was time.

The entire Weasley family was laying sated by the pond's edge. Even Harry sat with them, explaining the workings of a vacuum cleaner to Mr. Weasley. Ron smiled sadly. If Harry had to use Muggle appliances as a distraction, he was really depressed. He sighed. There would be time to comfort Harry later. Now was the time to come clean to Hermione.

Fortunately, she was still sitting secluded under the willow tree. She had a journal of some sort in her lap, and she closed it hastily when Ron approached.

"Hey, Hermione," Ron said. He stood for a moment and then awkwardly sat down next to her. He never _was_ good at this sort of thing.

"Hi, Ron," she replied. She smiled, but it was a brief, fake smile that lasted for barely a second. "You're welcome to sit with me, but I don't know how much company I'll be. I mean, I've just been so… Well, clearly if you're over here, you have something to tell me, don't you? So why am I still talking? Here, I'll be quiet and let you go."

It took Ron a few moments to realize she had stopped talking. Merlin, could Hermione go on! He cleared his throat and squeezed his eyes shut. _Maybe it's like diving, _he thought. _Maybe if you just close your eyes and jump in headfirst, you'll end up doing it right. _"I… Hermione, I'm gay." He squeezed his eyes even harder and waited for a response.

When he heard nothing, he opened his right eye. She was still sitting there, looking at him evenly. "Well, Ron, I don't know what you'd like me to say," she said helplessly. "I mean… I'm sure you had a talk with Ginny, and she told you that I found the book. I'm not against homosexuality, Ron; don't think that. It was just a bit of a shock, that's all. I mean, I always thought… I thought you fancied m—…girls," she finished. She hugged her knees to her chest and gazed out at the pond.

Ron fiddled with a piece of grass for a few moments. The Weasleys' chatter drifted over towards their tree, and Ron heard Harry say, "Oh, yes, they have this long hose attached—"

Ron dropped his piece of grass. _Focus, Ron_, he told himself. The last thing he needed to think of was Harry with a long hose. "Hermione, I… Well, I don't… I think I fancy girls, too," he said. "It's just that… I'm so confused!" he confessed. He heard Hermione make a sound, but he kept his gaze on the ground. "That book, it told me that you can't fancy blokes and girls the same, but I think I do."

To his surprise, Hermione let out a slight laugh. "Oh, Ron, honestly." She rolled her eyes. "Ernie Bertson—oh, you know, the author of the book—is known in the wizarding community for being a big prat, Ron. He shoves his opinions down his readers' throats with no qualms whatsoever. His book is completely biased. Didn't you quadruple-check your sources?" Hermione sighed and leaned closer to him. "Ron, you're _bi_. Bisexual. It's perfectly common. Of course," she added thoughtfully, "some people are convinced it's just a ploy that teenagers use to get laid. Oh, but it's perfect nonsense," she hurriedly assured when she saw Ron's worried look. "There are plenty of documented cases of older, bisexual people throughout the entire world, wizarding and Muggle alike."

Ron sighed. He felt like another huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Thank god," he said. He stretched and smiled. "One thing, though. How do I go about the whole dating thing? I mean… well, there's someone right now but… there's someone else, too." _And one of them is you_, he wanted to add.

Hermione's shoulders seemed to droop a little. "Gee, I don't know, Ron," she added in her falsely cheery tone again. "I don't think the wizarding world allows double partnerships. I guess you'll just have to figure out which one you like more."

A silence lingered in the warm summer air. Ron tried to open his mouth and tell her the rest, but his brain refused to acknowledge the command. Instead, he sat with Hermione under the willow tree and merely thought. _Well, I jumped_, Ron told himself. _Now let's see what happens when I hit the water._


	5. Tents

Disclaimer: Psh. Right. Like I'm really JK Rowling.

* * *

The sun had long gone down when Mrs. Weasley finally stopped pressing food on everybody and insisted that everything get packed. "It won't do if we have bugs crawling all over our food, now will it? We'll pack everything up and then it's off to bed with all of you."

"Oh, c'mon, Mum, don't make us go to bed yet!" whined Fred. "The night's barely started! Besides, George and I are adults now. We can go to bed whenever we please."

Mrs. Weasley sighed. "Fine, fine, then help me clean up, at least. But you three" –here she rounded on Harry, Ron, and Hermione—"I want you three to get straight to bed. None of you have slept well these past few weeks; just look at those circles under your eyes! Besides, if Fred and George are adults," she added, narrowing her eyes at the twins, "they'll have no problem taking on your share of the work, will they?"

"What?" yelped George.

"C'mon," Hermione whispered. "Let's get out of here before they start a row."

The three of them hurried away from the table and over to two small tents. They stood awkwardly in the dark until finally Hermione said, "Well, 'night," and went inside one.

"'Night," Ron called out belatedly. Harry didn't even seem to hear either of them. "Er…" When he still didn't do anything, Ron shrugged. "Right, well, I'll go change, then." He pushed open the flap and ducked inside.

Barely a second later, Ron had reemerged. "Harry!" he said. "Something… something's wrong with the tent!"

Harry frowned and pushed his way inside. He stuck his head back out and looked inquiringly at Ron. "What?" he asked. "There's nothing wrong with it."

Ron went back inside and waved his hands around. "But just look at it!" he said. "It's so… so… small!"

He was right. The tent was cramped and dark except for the one lantern Harry had lit. Being tall, Ron had to stoop, and even Harry had to duck down a bit.

"But where's the… where are the beds? Where's the kitchen? And the couches? And the _beds_?"

Harry laughed. "Ron, these are Muggle tents, you prat! Your dad really wanted to experience this whole camping thing. It's rather small for a Muggle tent, but it's better than my old cupboard. I'm impressed that he got them pitched, though; you remember the fiasco he had at the World Cup." He pressed his lips tightly together the moment he finished speaking; clearly, he remembered the other fiasco that had happened that night, too.

Ron gazed around miserably. So this tiny, itty bitty tent was to be his home for the night. But… "What about sleeping?" he asked abruptly. "How are we supposed to manage that?"

Harry pointed to the bottom of the tent. Two lumpy, maroon sleeping bags were stretched out next to each other. Ron's heart thumped wildly. He would be sleeping next to Harry again. Only this time, they were trapped in a tent. "Right," Ron heard himself say. "We'd better change then."

Harry nodded. He fumbled with his hands for a second, and then Ron heard the sound of a zipper being pulled. Ron felt his face flush. Sure, he and Harry had changed in the same room all year and all summer, but those rooms had been considerably bigger than this tent, and besides, Ron was always able to avert his eyes then without a problem. Now he had to casually shift his gaze to the sleeping bags as he pulled off his own trousers. Once in his shorts, Ron immediately crawled into a sleeping bag and turned his back to Harry. ""Night, mate," he said.

Ron waited to hear Harry say goodnight in return, but instead he heard Harry grunting and struggling with something. He rolled over a bit and saw Harry pulling furiously at the zipper on his sleeping bag.

"Come on… unzip, you little…" The zipper stayed where it was. "Hey, Ron, d'you think you could help me with this? The zipper's stuck."

Ron sat up and leaned over. He pulled on the zipper, but it wouldn't budge.

Harry reached down and firmly grabbed Ron's hands. "Maybe if I help pull…" Ron simply nodded and tried to steady his heart. "Right, then, on the count of three. One… two… thr—oomph!"

Ron's world turned upside down for a moment as the two boys rolled around the tent. When he stopped moving, he felt himself resting on top of something warm and slightly bony. "Harry? You okay?"

Harry stirred under him. "Ow. Yeah. You elbowed me in the chest and knocked me backwards." There was silence for a moment; then, he and Ron began to snigger and chortle and eventually broke out into full laughter. Ron could feel Harry shaking under him as they desperately tried to stop.

"Alright, boys, that's enough!" Mrs. Weasley shouted from somewhere outside the tent. "The cleaning's done and it's time for bed! Now go on, get to sleep!"

Ron finally managed to get his body back under his control when he realized he was definitely still on top of Harry. He was thankful certain other parts of him hadn't yet realized where he was. He quickly pushed himself off and picked up the broken sleeping bag.

"Well, maybe you could just sleep under it or something," Ron suggested after five more minutes of fruitless pulling. "Or on top of it." He glanced warily at the narrow strip of fabric and imagined Harry rolling off of it and onto the cold tent bottom within seconds of falling asleep.

"There is something else," Harry said. He looked over at Ron's sleeping bag. "We could always, um, unzip your whole thing and, er, use it as a quilt. I mean, I'm not saying you have to or anything, it's just a suggestion I… I don't want to make you uncom—I don't want to make you give up yours or anything. Never mind, forget I even said it."

Ron stared through the darkness at Harry's face. Was Harry worried that Ron might try something after last night? He hoped he hadn't destroyed anything with their friendship; he wouldn't be able to bear it. "No, no, it's fine," he finally said. "Here, let me just…"

A few minutes later, Ron lay awkwardly on his back next to Harry with the too-small bag-quilt stretched over them. Outside the tent, the rest of the Weasleys and Hermione were completely still. Inside the tent, Ron didn't know what to do. Should he wait for Harry to fall asleep and then get comfortable? Or should he get comfortable and then make Harry find a good spot? He was saved the trouble of deciding when Harry began to talk.

"Ron?" he whispered. "Can I ask you a question?"

Ron nodded; then, upon realizing that Harry probably couldn't see through the dark without glasses, added, "Mmmhm. Sure."

Harry paused, and then finally said, "Ron… Why was I in your bed this morning?"

Ron felt his breath catch. Finally, here it was, the moment to come clean. The moment to confess, "I love you, Harry; I want to marry you, Harry; wanna shag, Harry?"

"Ron?"

"Oh, I, er… well, you were having a nightmare, mate, and well… you wouldn't wake up… and I didn't know if you would be okay or not, and, er, well, I didn't want to wake up with a dead mate in the next bed, did I? So I brought you over to mine, figured it would be easier for me to keep my eye on you there. I guess we both just fell asleep." Ron held his breath. He hoped this excuse would be good enough.

It seems it was. Harry sighed. "Oh," he said. "I just thought… well, you know, I was worried I had been sleep walking or something. Just checking." He paused again, and then said, "Ron? When you brought me over, did you… Did_ I_… did I get too close? I'm sorry if I did, I mean, I was asleep, I didn't know I was that close, I hope you weren't too hot, I didn't know," he babbled. Ron was vaguely reminded of Hermione when she was in one of her Moods.

"No, it's okay, mate," Ron said. "I was kinda cold, anyway. Besides, I'm sure I was back asleep within seconds anyway. You know me."

"Yeah," Harry agreed quietly.

They were silent for some time after that. Ron wasn't really sure how long it was; he heard some owls hooting and a vague rustling from the direction of the twins' tent, but all else was rather still. He was beginning to think that perhaps purple really _wasn't_ such a queer color and maybe it really would look good with his hair and speaking of hair Hermione really _did_ have lots of hair and he wondered if she had hair in other places or if maybe she shaved because you know the twins did seem to know an _awful_ lot about shaving and he wasn't so sure if it was just from shaving their faces because Weasleys never really grew bushy beards except for that time when they crossed the Age Line and oho that was hilarious!—when suddenly he felt the blanket slide off and he was cold again.

"Harry?" he called out softly.

"Mmm?" came the reply.

"'M cold."

"Oh. Here."

Ron waited for the blanket to be sent over his way. Instead, Ron felt a much hotter warmth slowly wrapping around his legs and his chest and—oh, Merlin, Harry had just cuddled up to him.

"Better?" Harry murmured.

"Yeah," Ron agreed. He pulled Harry a little closer and sighed. Too tired to ponder the matter any further, Ron fell asleep.


End file.
